A Quote by Christine de Pizan

Though sad at heart, to sing joyfully. — © Christine de Pizan
Though sad at heart, to sing joyfully.

Quote Topics

I sing my heart out to the wide open spaces I sing my heart out to the infinite sea I sing my vision to the sky-high mountains I sing my song to the free.
When I sing, I go somewhere else. Every time after I sing, I'll ask, 'Did I do OK?' Because I feel like it's like my soul squeezing out of my vocal chords. I don't sit there and think about 'I'm gonna do this next...' I just sing. I sing from my heart, and my heart's got a little lonesome in it.
When you say, "I have a sad heart," then you literally have a sad heart. If we looked inside your heart, we would find it affected by molecules that cause stress and damage, such as excessive amounts of adrenaline and cortisol.
My heart rushes into the garden, joyfully tasting all the delights. But reason frowns, disapproving of the heart's bad manners.
Yes, I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness, sad as an eagle without wings, sad as a violin with only one string and that one broken, sad as a woman who is growing old. Sad, sad, sad.
If you sing of beauty though alone in the heart of the desert you will have an audience.
Dance as though no one is watching. Love as though you've never been hurt. Sing as though no one can hear you. Live as though heaven is on earth.
It was sad, it was sad, it was sad. When Betty came back we didn't sing or laugh, or even argue. We sat drinking in the dark, smoking cigarettes, and when we went to sleep, I didn't put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching. We had both been robbed.
Though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad; his kiss was not so wonderful as all the dreams I had.
Sad; so sad, those smoky-rose, smoky-mauve evenings of late Autumn, sad enough to pierce the heart.
Love entered in my heart one dayA sad, unwelcome guest.But when it begged that it might stayI let it stay and restIt broke my nights with sorrowingIt filled my heart with fearsAnd, when my soul was prone to sing,It filled my eyes with tears.But...now that it has gone its way,I miss the dear ole pain.And, sometimes, in the night I prayThat Love might come again.
If I was sad or afraid, I would sit in a corner and sing. If I was happy I would jump into the middle of the room and sing. It was how I expressed my emotions.
Joyfully celebrating the killing of a killer who joyfully celebrated killing carries an irony that I hope will not be lost on us. Are we learning anything, or simply spinning harder in the cycle of violence?
She wasn't bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time.
He who believes in God is not careful for the morrow, but labors joyfully and with a great heart. "For He giveth His beloved, as in sleep." They must work and watch, yet never be careful or anxious, but commit all to Him, and live in serene tranquility; with a quiet heart, as one who sleeps safely and quietly.
I cannot sing the old songs Though well I know the tune, Familiar as a cradle-song With sleep-compelling croon; Yet though I'm filled with music, As choirs of summer birds, I cannot sing the old songs-- I do not know the words.
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